Thursday, 5 June 2014

Indexed Stories – 15

“L” seems to stand for limbo, as I had kept
everything in abeyance
for far too long this time. My last post was in October 2013 and much has
happened since then. No, I will not provide lengthy alibis, instead of which I
will dwell on the surprises that life springs on us. These surprises may not
always be pleasant; in fact, I have had my fair share of those. Over the years
I have learnt to developed a thick skin. But, however much I try to ignore these;
I am sucked right into its vortex and my self-created insulation fails me at
times. As a consequence, I am left a bit frayed at the edges and a considerable
amount of time is wasted in the healing process.

Writing this
post is not just a form of catharsis, but is a sure sign that the process of
recovery has begun. Some wounds however never heal completely and leave
permanent scars and almost in all cases they are brought about by a feeling of
betrayal.

Every individual
possesses their own unique way of dealing with emotional turmoil and employ
varying means for catharsis – some more efficient than others. I used to laugh the most when my back was to
the wall. But, I am too much of an optimist; a particularly bad financial year
would be brushed away by convincing myself that it could not get any worse – it
could only get better. The following year it would be the same and I would still
say to myself – it could only get better! But, then I was younger, more
energetic and full of hope. Nowadays, though I still laugh, I play solitaire
when I am not working (which is most of the time), as if this game of chance
will inure me to the pitfalls of risk taking.

As an
incorrigible optimist (sometimes foolhardily so) I believe that life is too
happening to give up! So, let me give you some examples of optimistic people
that I have met.

A younger friend
of mine, Lalu (not his real name) was a table tennis champ and then became a
professional bridge player while running a successful business. He had his
brother join his enterprise who promptly swindled him of his money and share of
their paternal home. At that juncture in his life, his wife left him too. One
would generally be devastated with such a combination of miseries, but, Lalu
was unfazed. His business bounced back in a few years, he fell in love again
and to top it all he funds and runs a primary school on the outskirts of
Calcutta for children from economically challenged backgrounds. Lalu is a true
fighter and to me, he epitomises optimism.

Although Shawji
is not on the “L” page I cannot but tell you about him. Shawji’s life was a
rags to riches story. He came to the city as a young adult from a small town in
Uttar Pradesh with just a shirt on his back. He was a dark man with a trimmed
moustache. He always wore spotless white dhotis and shirts and flaunted his
gamchha almost as a style statement. He had started as a small time scrap
dealer and by the time we met, although barely literate, he already owned a
steel rolling mill, a fleet of trucks and trailers, a lot of property and other
assets. He was dignified and courteous, even his “dehati” Hindi was without any
rough edges. Despite the apartment he owned just below me, he continued to live
most of the time in the tenement he grew up in. His humility was his endearing
quality. One Sunday morning he visited me to sort out some issues regarding the
maintenance of the building and after having concluded our business, Mr. Shaw asked
me how we were coping in these times of inflation. “Guptaji kaysa chal raha hai
is mehengai ke din me?” he asked. He knew that I was an artist and to most
people, including educated people, being an artist is not even considered a
profession. I explained that the going was not good, that returns on
investments were decreasing, interest rates having dropped drastically, etc. He
listened to me intently, but, all the while I could see that he was getting a
little impatient. Now, I cannot write this in the language he used, so those of
you who are familiar with the “dehati” Hindi of the Gaya region can try and imagine
the tenor.

“I don’t
understand why you Bengalis are so fond of earning from fixed deposits. How
much do you get? 7% - 8%? That’s pitiful!” he remarked. I kept quiet.

“Look!” he
continued, “Do you have a lakh to spare?” I nodded nervously.

“This is what
you should do. You invest a lakh and the bank gives you the rest and you buy a
road roller with it. There are many road projects on and they always need road
rollers. You rent yours to one of the projects and earn. Do you know how much
you can earn?” he asked. I shook my head.

“After taking
care of expenses and paying EMI to the bank you will make about twenty to
twenty five thousand every month. That one lakh would have earned seven or
eight thousand rupees in a year from a fixed deposit and how much do you earn
this way? Three lakhs! And that too, you just sit at home. No comparison!” I
widened my eyes in disbelief.

“You will be
paying off your loan in five to seven years and the road roller would be too
old to run and de-commissioned, sell it as scrap and you make another lakh!” he
continued. I feigned interest.

“See, I have
been doing this for many years now. I arrange a loan from the bank and walk
into the heavy engineering department of Larsen & Toubro and buy heavy duty
cranes needed for building flyovers. Then I walk into the bridge building
section of the same company and hire the equipment to them. It’s all on paper.
I do not take delivery of the equipment nor deliver it to the project site. I
arrange so that the monthly rental is directly paid into my bank and the bank
adjusts the EMI. I sit at home and see my bank account getting fat!”

“But, of course
you will not be able to handle this. You will need a good overseer who will
handle this for you. If you decide to do it I will arrange everything”, he
concluded and took his leave.

After Shawji had
left, Smriti who overheard this conversation from the next room came over and
asked whether I was planning to buy a road roller? “Why not?” I replied. “See
what we get out of it! Money of course, no parking problems and we can take it
for a spin on weekends! The downside of course is that to catch the evening
show we will have to start immediately after lunch!” We finally decided not to
buy a road roller; there was no boot space for our baggage.

Way back in the
mid-seventies I had a friend (Laltu this time) who was really desperate to get
married as all of us were spoken for and spent most of our spare time with our
respective girlfriends. So, he decided that he should get married and started
scouting around for a bride. We met infrequently at our rendezvous at the tea
shop on Hindustan Road and he would bemoan his lot and complain that his search
was proving futile. But, one day a beaming Laltu announced that he had finally
found his bride. We started pestering him for details.

“What’s her
name?” I asked.

“What does she
look like?” demanded another.

“She is very
pretty!” said Laltu with a smug smile

“When did you
meet her?”

“I did not meet
her” he said.

“So, you saw a
photograph?”

“No” he said
flatly.

“Then how do you
know that she is pretty?”

“I met her
father, he is a very good looking person!” he said in all earnestness.

There was
laughter all around and a momentarily befuddled Laltu also joined in. That in
my opinion is optimism by inference.

13 comments:

The rent-a-road roller business idea sounds terrific! May be this is the right time with a business friendly Govt in Delhi to give the idea a shot. Who knows the local Govt. might prove to be a worthy client to use it to steam roll dissenting voices.

Reading this article has enlightened me! Would love a Laluji to guide at this juncture of life when making money has suddenly invaded my hopes of any possibilities of bettering figures on my bank passbook . You missed it man! You as much as me remain the Bangali that we are.....